Wood is not enough
and stone not enough. The house is trembling always, and everywhere John
sees rotting, cracking, paint peeling, pipes leaking. If the decay is
not apparent, it is because it is hidden and pernicious. He feels panicked,
as if the house might fly apart at any momentnails shoot from wood,
the walls shudder with fatigue and collapse. The friction that holds the
nails is a poor and pitiful force with gravity and entropy conspiring
against it. John walks through the house touching the walls with his fingertips.
Hold fast, he whispers, hold fast.